


Only Yours

by The_Lonely_has_always_had_me



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), First smut posting, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Shower Sex, don't look at me, post 159, sweet jesus i'm really doing this huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lonely_has_always_had_me/pseuds/The_Lonely_has_always_had_me
Summary: “I need you to shower, because I can smell him on you.  You smell like salt and fog and the tide, and I hate it.  It feels like he marked you, and it makes my skin crawl.”  He hadn’t realized that he was being walked backwards until he was pressed to the wall, and Jon crowded in close to him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 40
Kudos: 350





	Only Yours

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is a thing that happened. Somehow the first smut I'm posting is neither my normal brand of NSFW nor even my normal dynamic for these two. But this damn thing would not get out of my head, and then I ended up liking how it came out. Seems it took a sex scene to get some of my best characterization of Jon's asexuality. Who knew?
> 
> Not Beta-read because somehow it was easier to post this thing here than send it to one specific person.

“Martin.”

He shook his head and tried to drag his sluggish mind back to the present. He could tell from the tone that it wasn’t the first time he’d called his name. “Sorry...what?”

Jon's shoulders were stiff with tension, but his expression was softened with patience. There was the soft smile again; the one that still made his mind short circuit for a moment every time he saw it. “Keys?” Jon motioned over his shoulder, and Martin was surprised to see the door to his own flat.

“How did you know where I live?” 

Jon gave him a small smirk. “I just led us out of a place that doesn't technically exist. Wasn’t too hard to figure out an address.”

“Right…” He tried to hold onto the moment as the fog swirled in his mind at the mention of where they’d been just...a bit before this. He honestly had no idea how long ago that had been. He had vague memories of Basira pressing the keys to one of Daisy’s safehouses into Jon’s hand and then they were rushing through the halls of the Archive, trying not to brush up against the splashes of blood that painted the walls. Jon squeezed his hand again, and he shook away the wisps that had begun to creep over his vision. He dug the keys out of his pocket and passed them over. He dropped Martin’s hand and turned to the door to unlock it. It wasn’t until his grip was gone that Martin realized just how long Jon had been holding his hand. His palm felt empty without the smooth burn scars pressed there.

Jon got the door open and stepped inside first. He took a moment to look around the dark room, before stepping back and motioning for Martin to come in. Before tonight, he might have found the idea of the smaller man holding him back while he scouted for danger funny, but the echo of Peter’s scream as he simply ceased to be still sounded in Martin’s mind. It was hard to deny now that Jon was dangerous. And yet, when he put a hand at the small of Martin’s back to usher him into his own living room, he felt nothing but safe.

Martin flipped the light switch, and his small flat came into sharp focus. A year ago, he would have been apologizing for the mess. His poetry notebooks as well as a handful of pens in various colors would have been spread over the coffee table. The end tables would have held a collection of old tea mugs, and the couch would have been covered with a variety of rumpled, cozy blankets. Instead the notebooks were stacked neatly on a shelf and had gathered a thick layer of dust over the months. His evenings at home recently had included staring at the TV in a haze and going to bed early; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d made tea here. The blankets had been put away when he realized the cold didn’t seem to bother him anymore.

He hadn’t realized that he’d frozen again until Jon squeezed his shoulder. “You need to pack. Preferably rather light, but grab anything you might need for the next several weeks...at least.”

Martin nodded. He’d gone two steps towards the short hallway that led to his bedroom when Jon spoke again. 

“Why don’t you take a shower as well.” It was phrased as a question, but the tone certainly didn’t sound like a suggestion.

He turned back to Jon. “Do we have time for that?”

“It’s fine. We’ll still make the train. Just go wash off the sand and the saltwater.”

“We don’t know what might be after us. It can wait until we get to the safehouse.”

“No...it can’t.”

He passed a hand over his face as Martin asked him why. The eyes that found his as they opened again hardly looked like Jon’s at all. His gaze was razor sharp, and they seemed unnaturally bright. He stepped right up to him and twisted Martin’s jumper in his hand.

“I need you to shower, because I can smell him on you. You smell like salt and fog and the tide, and I  _ hate _ it. It feels like he marked you, and it makes my skin crawl.” He hadn’t realized that he was being walked backwards until he was pressed to the wall, and Jon crowded in close to him. “You were never his to claim. I would have destroyed him for that alone. For thinking that he had any right to take you away-”

There was more to that sentence, but Jon bit it off with clenched teeth. The last vestiges of fog that lingered in his mind burned away under the intensity of that gaze. The eyes were definitely glowing faintly now. His breath shuddered as he wanted for the first time in months. He felt his heartbeat begin to race as he wondered if that sentence ended the way he thought it might.

“Then who? Whose am I to claim?” He was breathless, and he watched Jon’s nostrils flare in response to the sound.

Jon blinked, and for a moment, his eyes were the soft hazel ones he had memorized long ago, but his hand still gripped Martin’s sweater just as tightly. “I suppose I should say something like you don’t belong to anyone. That you should make your own choices, but…”

“But that stopped being true a long time ago.” Martin surprised himself by cupping Jon’s cheek in his hand, letting his thumb run softly over the small bumps of the worm scars. Jon leaned into the touch, and his eyes fluttered shut. The glow was back when he opened them again.

“You are mine. Even before I knew it, you were mine. No one else gets to have you, and I won’t let anything else hurt you.” Martin shivered. He understood now the emphasis that the other avatars put on the title when he heard them on the tapes. But no matter what, The Archivist still looked up at him with Jon’s face, and the voice, despite the undercurrent of power laced through it, was undeniably the one he’d fallen in love with. “And part of me may be claimed, but the rest...every part of me that is still human is yours, Martin.”

Jon tugged on Martin’s sweater, and he moved immediately, willingly, leaning forward to meet Jon’s lips. His free hand moved up to curl into the hair at the base of Martin’s neck. He tugged it just as he nipped at his bottom lip, and when Martin gasped, he stretched up to press his tongue between his open lips. They were both panting by the time Jon pulled away.

“You need to shower, because every time I catch a whiff of him on your skin, I want to mark you as mine. And I don’t...I’m not sure what that means yet. This power is too new...I don’t know what I’d do, but I know that it does not feel like it would be gentle.”

He could see a little of Jon and his uncertainty in the face now. He leaned down to kiss him again, and Jon met him with a low moan. He broke the kiss long enough to whisper against Jon’s mouth, “Come with me. You’re covered in sand too. Come with me, and we’ll both be rid of him. I want you on my skin not him. I want you to mark me. I don’t want to be alone anymore; I want to feel like I’m yours.” Jon answered with a kiss that pushed Martin almost painfully back against the wall.

Jon didn’t. Martin knew that. He knew that his words didn’t mean that Jon would claim him by fucking him into his mattress the way he’d imagined in a few of his fantasies, but it didn’t make him want to be Jon’s any less. He wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but if it involved feeling this wanted, then he was all in. He led Jon down the hall towards his small bathroom, and it didn’t take long for him to learn that ‘Jon didn’t’ did not mean that Jon wouldn’t have him pressed up against the tile wall of the shower, toes curled in pleasure. The warm water streamed over the many dark bruises that Jon had sucked to the surface of the skin across his neck and chest, making them tingle and ache just enough. The light teeth marks stung just a little more sharply.

Jon didn’t want to be touched in return, but the way his eyes raked over Martin, flashing every time he drew a new noise out of him, chased away any thoughts that it was because Jon didn’t want to be doing this. That Jon didn’t want him in every way that he could.

His hand was wrapped tight around the base of Martin’s cock. He’d worked him slowly right up to the precipice and now was holding him there. Martin was lost in the sensation, barely aware that it was his own voice begging for release. Jon stretched up to press his lips against the shell of Martin’s ear. “Say it for me, love. Say it, and I’ll let you cum.” His hand tightened for just a moment, and Martin’s knees almost gave out as the pleasure shot through his body.

He laid his forehead against Jon’s, panting against his lips. “I’m yours...only yours.”

Still the hand on his cock didn’t move. When Jon spoke again, the power in his voice was gone, and Martin opened his eyes to find that it was just Jon gazing up at him. “And why are you mine?”

He managed a smile even though he was still gasping for air. “Because I love you.”

Jon kissed him softly as his hand stroked him through his orgasm. He was still coming back to himself when he felt the soft brush of air against his ear again.

“And I love you, Martin.”

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, Martin is a top, and in the right situation, the softest damn dom in the world. So what the fuck happened here?
> 
> Anyway, I'd love feedback, good or bad, since this is a bit out there for me.


End file.
